


The correct attire for princesses

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cross-cultural, F/F, Gen, mentor and pupil things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:49:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Galadriel, newly come to Doriath, is still learning the ways of the place and the signals that every detail of her behaviour gives off.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The correct attire for princesses

The queen of Doriath looked the princess up and down from head to foot with an appraising eye, and Galadriel bore it determinedly, standing there with her shoulders squared and her hands curled into fists.

Suddenly the Maia threw back her head and laughed. “Come, come, princess, you needn’t look quite so belligerent. It doesn’t suite your new attire, which may I add…” she ran an elegant finger down the outside of Galadriel’s sleeve “…looks very well on you.”

Galadriel glanced down at her body in the still unfamiliar, complicated folds of the Iathrim robes she wore. She had put aside her accustomed garb that she had brought from Mithrim and adopted the style of Thingol’s court, and she had been frustrated to find that the complex and symbolic crossing of ties and folds of flowing satin had been somewhat difficult to master, despite the careful guidance of the skilled handmaid who had been sent to teach her.

“Thank you, my queen” she said, dropping a stiff curtsey.

“You wear green, with the box folds?” said Melian, inclining her head. “That is… intriguing to say the least.” A small smile was beginning to spread across her face.

“Intriguing? How?” said Galadriel, trying to keep the defensiveness from her voice.

“Do you not know what it signifies?”

“It is a colour I have always loved to wear” said Galadriel. “It is the colour of my house. Or one of them. And I saw princess Lúthien wearing the box folds, and thought they were the usual way to wear this… traditional costume.”

Melian smiled fully at that. “Indeed” she said. “But perhaps you know that the box folds are the style that… to put it your way… is  _traditionally_  worn by the royal family.” She indicated her own box folds, the rich, dark purple silk falling distinctly more elegantly than Galadriel’s. “Which, for a granddaughter of the king’s brother…” she spread her hands out before her. “Well, it is certainly a statement, I suppose. I wonder what my husband will think.” She laughed softly. “And the green…” she looked Galadriel up and down once more. “Darling girl, you should know that green is a warrior’s colour. A hero’s colour, meant for those who defend and protect. Have you not seen the marchwardens who go out into the forest and beyond the girdle? They wear green to blend into the forest leaves, and in green they defend our realm from the evils that lie without.” She walked around behind Galadriel, inspecting her from every angle, before coming back to look her in the eye. “Tell me, princess, are you a warrior?”

Galadriel held her gaze. “I consider myself one, yes.”

Galadriel expected Melian to dispute this, to point out her lack of weapons – Galadriel thought suddenly of the sword and dagger stashed beneath her bed, wrapped in her old cloak, the bow and finely tooled leather quiver that lay amongst her things, her light armour that she wore now only for travelling across the open lands – but Melian said nothing, only nodded and carried on looking over her.

“And this serpent brooch…” Melian’s long, graceful fingers brushed the brooch that pinned the folds at Galadriel’s breast, over her heart. “What do serpents mean to the Golodhrim, I wonder?”

“The twined serpents are the insignia of my father’s house” said Galadriel. “And see, here, the pearls…” she touched the pearls set in the gold border of the brooch “…Telerin pearls, for my mother, Eärwen of that royal house of Olwë of Alqualondë. My brothers each have one like it too.” She looked up at Melian in defiance. “I will not go without it, no matter what I wear.”

“It is considered shameful amongst the lords and ladies of the court to pierce the fabric with any brooch or pin” said Melian. “It signifies one who cannot master the knotwork of the straps, a beginner. An inept. If you must wear it, then I would wear it elsewhere. Perhaps, as a pendant about your neck? It would look well there, I think.” Melian’s finger brushed Galadriel’s skin at the hollow of her throat, very lightly, and Galadriel felt an involuntary frisson go through her. The Maia’s skin could not be described as either warm or cold, precisely, but there seemed to be a kind of shimmer that issued from its surface, a crackle of energy that was almost electric, like lightning in the air before a storm.

Galadriel swallowed and regained her composure, standing up a little taller. “Perhaps” she said. “Although I should have to find one that could reset it.”

“Doubtless you are discerning in your choice of goldsmith” said Melian, dipping her head. “You might ask one of the Aulë’s people, who built these caves, if none of our own smiths meet your requirements.”

“I might” said Galadriel carelessly. “If I wanted. But tell me, my queen, what are the penalties for such infractions of propriety? Why should I care?”

“There are no  _penalties_ , princess,” said Melian with a sigh, her face turning to concern. “I am merely concerned for you and your position here. People have already begun to talk of you, so my daughter tells me.”

 _Let them talk_ , Galadriel thought.  _See if I care._  But she found, to her mild surprise and annoyance, that she  _did_ care. “What do they say about me?”

“They wonder at why you have risen so fast, and how you grew so high in the favour of the king an the queen. Why we are so generous to you, so to speak.”

“I am not here for your charity. I am no beggar come to seek shelter here from across the ocean.”

“I did not say that.”

“But that is what they think.”

“Perhaps some do” said Melian. “Some think you regards yourself as above us, here in our wood. Some resent the touch of the light in your eyes. Some are jealous of your talent and your teaching by the Valar, in the light of the Trees.”

“And what am I to do about that? I do not go out of my way to flaunt any of these things about the court. If they are jealous, then it is not of my doing.” Galadriel was angry now, and knew her voice was coming out haughty. “And I know you do not favour me just for my past teaching in Lórien.” She hated the touch of desperation in her voice, the question.  _You don’t… do you?_

“Peace, young princess” said Melian, taking Galadriel’s hand and letting a little of her power flow into it, a calming quiet glow. “I favour you for your talent, both raw and schooled, for your determination, and all the other…” she half-frowned and half-smiled “… _admirable qualities_  you possess. But you  _are_  proud, you cannot deny that.”

Galadriel let out a snort. “If you think  _me_  proud, you should see some of my cousins. At least three of them are completely insufferable.”

“There you are” said Melian, throwing up her hands in feigned exasperation and laughing. “You take everything as an insult, princess. I was not calling you proud, nor implying you to be as uncouth as you claim these cousins of yours are; I was merely telling you what the people of the court are saying. You need to _listen_.” She twined her fingers in the air, pulling a glowing garland of flowers from the air behind her back, with a low whistling sound. Then, quick as a cat, she whipped the fair rope about Galadriel. The princess caught the test at the last second and ducked, singing a counterspell even as she did so, and the flowers dissipated in midair as a burst of glowing petals made of light, which scattered and faded into the air.

Galadriel slipped a little on the smooth-polished flagstones, missing her heavy boots with their solid heels that she wore for journeying and hunting with her brothers. Her embroidered silk court slippers may allow her to be ghost-quiet, but she knew she needed more practice gaining purchase on the ubiquitous mirror smooth tiles of these carven caves.  _Another thing I am inadequate at_ , she thought bitterly.

“ _Listen_ , you tell me,” complained Galadriel, setting herself straight and adjusting the folds of her unfamiliar robe, which she had come uncomfortably close to tripping over. “But you can do that entirely without making a sound. Songs of power I understand. But you can work soundlessly, without song. How can I listen then?”

“No, child, you misunderstand. You must listen to the _mind,_  not the sound. You know the mind speech; use it. Let it make your spells stronger. You are skilled at it, I have felt the strength of your bond with your brothers.”

Galadriel pursed her lips, annoyed once more. “You had no right to listen in on our conversations.”

“No” said Melian. “I am sorry. I was merely intrigued by you. Back then, when you first came to Menegroth, you were…” she let her eyes run over Galadriel once more, and Galadriel shivered under their gaze but did not falter. “I was trying to get the measure of you.”

“And did you?”

“Yes” said Melian simply.

“And what were your conclusions, my queen?”

“I know that there are things you hide. There is something that happened on the crossing from Aman…” she smiled gently as she saw Galadriel’s eyes widen. “And no, I have not looked at those, though I could. I owe you better than that. But I worry about you, princess, I do. You need to be careful.”

“What will happen if I am not?”

“That depends entirely on the secrets you are keeping from the court, and how well you keep them” said Melian. “I am not the only one within these caves that can see into the minds of others, especially when they are unguarded, as perhaps in a moment of passion…” she raised an eyebrow. “Just take care, princess.”

Galadriel fought back the impulse to say something cutting.  _No_ , she told herself,  _I am no longer playing at verbal sparring with my cousins, not anymore. Melian is my teacher and if I keep within her favour I could learn much._ So she simply curtseyed once more, clasping her hands together before her in the way that she had learned was proper in Menegroth. She stumbled a little over the fabric that swathed her legs. “Thank you, my queen. I shall heed your advice.”

Melian looked as though she knew exactly what Galadriel had been thinking, though Galadriel had felt no touch of the queen’s mind on hers.

“Good” said Melian. “Oh, and if you are to truly dress in the style of the court, you must let down your hair too.”

Galadriel’s hand flew to her head, where her long hair was braided into her usual neat crown, looped about and tucked in neatly. “Why?”

“It is part of the ensemble” said Melian. “I can teach you the correct way to do these, if you like” said Melian, touching her own tiny braids at the sides of her head, which were twined and knotted with each other in a complicated pattern that Galadriel was sure also held symbolism that she did not know. Melian smiled wryly. “A warrior’s braids, if that is what you would like. Or a more courtly style, like my daughter’s. It is up to you, but you must let your hair flow down your back, as you have seen on others.”

“Why do you care about all these rules and traditions your people make up, anyway?” asked Galadriel, touching her hair uncomfortably, more curious than angry. “Surely for you they are merely amusing diversions, the people of this realm.”

Melian frowned, and the very room seemed to grow a little darker. “You begin to overstep yourself, daughter of Eärwen. Perhaps my kindred in Lórien have grown unheeding of the troubles and whims of the Children; if it is so then it saddens me. But I am not of that kind, not anymore.” She sighed, clasping her hands together before her, weaving her fingers together. “When I bound myself to my Elu, I tied my power to his land. I _became_  the land of Doriath, yes, and its people, in a very real sense. So…” her mouth twisted. “All of these little traditions that you clearly  think so little of, even as they are rooted in the hearts and minds and lives of my people, so they are built into my own spirit. If I  _am_ Doriath, then I am also its people, and they are me. And though they err sometimes, and can be petty, I cannot but love them for it.”

Galadriel was silent for a moment, thinking about this. She was about to speak once more, when Melian interrupted her thoughts, half smiling again.

“Besides, traditions aside, you have such beautiful hair.”

Galadriel had to laugh. “You are not the first to tell me that. Indeed, that is part of the reason why I wear it bound back. I would have cut it all off, if my brother had not talked me out of it.”

“I was not unaware of the power your Treelit hair exerts over hearts, sweet one.”

Understanding dawned on Galadriel. “You miss your home, and I remind you of it?”

“Yes and no. Aman is not longer my home.” A small, wistful smile appeared on her face. “But yes, I do miss it. Almost I can see you running wild and free across a bright garden with my own sisters in Lórien.” She looked down at Galadriel. “It is a beautiful sight, indeed.” She indicated Galadriel’s hair. “May I?”

Galadriel nodded, without words, and Melian pulled the jewelled pins from Galadriel’s hair, letting her braid tumbled free, then gently undoing the braid so that the golden waves cascaded down her back. Galadriel felt her whole body tense as Melian ran her fingers through her hair, feeling that bright tingle again as the Maia’s fingers touched her scalp.

At last Melian came to stand before her. “There” she said, moving away so that they were no longer touching. “Better already.” Melian’s dark eyes – which Galadriel could never quite put a colour to, for they appeared different every time – were boring into her, but a pleased smile played about her full lips.

Galadriel’s mouth was a little dry, and suddenly she found she had no reply to hand. For a long moment, the silence stretched out between them, heavy with possibilities.

Then Melian sighed, seeming to come back to herself from far away. “But come” she said. “If you are to dress in the style of the court, you must learn to move in your robes without tripping over your train or slipping on your soles.”

Galadriel felt herself blushing crimson once more. “I can… I mean, I didn’t - ”

“Have no fear, princess” said Melian. “I will teach you.”


End file.
